


do i need a reason

by stillmadaboutpetra



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anniversary, Dragon Simon Snow, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Sex, Monsterfucking, Monsters, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Silly Sex, Vampire Sex, baz wears body jewelry, five seconds of toe sucking sorry<3, some titty play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillmadaboutpetra/pseuds/stillmadaboutpetra
Summary: Baz wants horny time :(  he gets some :)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	do i need a reason

**Author's Note:**

> i cant take anything seriously <33 sorry

Simon thinks he’s going to have a very regular average medium day. His expectations for comfortable mundanity (which, in and of itself, he considers a blessing regardless of certain rumblings otherwise,) come to an abrupt end upon catching sight of yonder husband dearest.

“My dearest husband, why dondest ye such trinkets,” Simon does not say.

What he says is: “Oh fuck me,” followed by, “okay I _know_ it’s not our anniversary.”

(He glances at the kittens-in-a-basket calender on the fridge just to be sure. No. Their anniversary isn’t for a few months. Spring wedding and all that. _Autumn’s so expected._ Simon thought spring was normal but he apparently didn’t know shit about weddings. He stayed out of it, like, until the whole vows part. Then he was decidedly involved.)

His tail thrashes eagerly behind him, sprung out from the back of his joggers, wagging back and forth. It knows. His tail knows. It knows all.

“It’s our anniversary,” Baz says without turning around, voice deceptively dry despite the circumstances. The circumstances being: he’s pretty fucking naked. He’s pretty, he’s naked, and he’s about to be fucking. Pretty fucking naked. There’s a few tasteful arrangements of adornments that leave little to the imagination. Simon can summon Baz’s body to his mind’s eye in perfect clarity, from every angle. He has spent years in dedicated worship to his husband.

Simon pulls the calender off the fridge on his way across the kitchen where Baz is pretending it takes him more than a minute to put the french press together. He can smell bagels from that posh place De Beauvoir - smoked salmon. Shit. Shit. Is it their anniversary?

“Fourteen years,” Baz says helpfully.

“Alright, I know I’m bad at math, but we haven’t been married that long.”

“Certainly feels like it,” Baz sighs. Simon’s on him in an instant, tail wrapped around Baz’s wrist, hands wrapped around the narrow cut of his hips.

“What was that?” He sticks his nose in behind Baz’s ear and licks him doggishly. He tastes like artificial vanilla and oil. Rihana Body Lava, Who Needs Clothes. Baz squirms and hisses his disapproval, twisting in Simon’s arm. He tinkles. He chimes. He’s covered in pretty glittery things. He’s buffed and luster-dusted and truly a sparkly vampire. He’s playing dirty. Simon’s already hard. It’s really not fair.

“Fourteen blissful years,” Baz sneers, lifting his chin up and away from Simon’s drooling kiss. “You dog.”

Simon is not a dog, despite the insistence of Baz’s commentary on his manners, but in fact, a dragon. It’s a whole thing, the dragon bit, hence Basilton’s honorless tricks at the moment. He knows what shiny objects do to his husband. Baz is a very nice very shiny object at the moment.

He’s tinted in rose gold, he’s layered head to toe in a drapery of thin gold chains that draw the eye along his lean silhouette, that imply a liquidity to his sinuous movements. His fine-boned fingers are accented in rings, his toes as well, ringed and garnished with a netting of gold that connects to an anklet on each foot. Every gesture stretches and catches the light. Leads the attention to his broad chest, to his pale brown nipples puckered sweetly in the pinch of two amethyst studded clamps that pour a waterfall of chains. Even his navel has been magickally pierced for the occasion, threaded through with a filigree of gold, ornamented and waiting to be tongued.

His ass and cock are completely bare, as they should be. Simon would just wind up breaking whatever delicate entrapments Baz might have imagined.

“Baz, darling, light of my life,” Simon growls lightly, kissing in preemptive apology along Baz’s shoulder. It’s two pm on a Thursday. He’s between clients. It’s been a long week. He is fairly sure they haven’t been married for fourteen years. “I know I haven’t been a good enough boy for this.”

“No, you really haven’t,” Baz tsks but he arches into Simon’s attention all the same. That’s what he wanted, after all; Simon’s attention. He’s been woefully bereft of it of late. He runs on few things: overpriced bagels and lox, blood, Simon Snow’s attention. (A cheat cigarette here and there. Who knew vampires suffered from nicotine addiction.) (It’s not like it would kill him, but the smell puts Simon off now that he’s come into his dragon powers a bit more.) “But I have been.”

“Fourteen years?”

“Since you kissed me.”

“Sap. It’s not even the day.” They always do something a little special on the day. Simon’s a bit of a sap too when it comes to Baz.

“Fine, do I need a reason?”

“No but,” Simon makes his way up Baz’s shoulders and the delicious dip between his collarbones to his throat; his mouth runs with spit and a toothy itch of anticipation as he finally draws Baz into a kiss, finishing the game of resistance. “But.”

He forgets what he’s saying. Baz opens his mouth and he tastes like espresso, like bitter black cherry and something nutty and succulent. Simon sucks Baz’s tongue into his mouth with an eager groan and clicks his teeth on something.

Baz smiles wickedly against his lips.

Simon flinches back in shock. “Is that-”

Baz gasps when Simon grabs his jaw in a hand that’s begun to curl with claws. Simon’s breath steams from his mouth, a chemical boil of lust.

“Stick out your tongue,” Simon demands breathlessly, blue eyes pooled dark, the pupil expanding and retracting rapidly. Any minute now and-

Baz tips his face into Simon’s grip, sighing with false modesty before slithering his tongue out from between his lips in a slow reveal until, with a metallic tap, he presents the gold stud nestled in the center of his tongue.

Simon’s pupils snap into slits. Between them, Baz’s cock has begun to fill untouched as desire pumps through Baz.

The growing scent of arousal, a masculine tanginess in the air, slicks over the perfumed smell of Baz’s body glitter. Both men inhale deeply, savoring the organic and curling pleasure of each other’s scents. Simon’s post-session dampness, all sweat and endorphins, blazes hotly with each lungful Baz breathes. He breathes through his mouth in mirror of his husband, dragging Simon’s scent over his tongue. It doesn’t translate for him like it does for Simon, whose mouth-breathing all along had been his desperate attempts to scent the air. Still, it’s a thrill, a tantalizing thought, that even his most basic acts drag Simon deeper into him.

Simon tugs Baz’s face closer and sucks his tongue into his mouth, rolling his against Baz’s to tug and knead the stud, eager to flick at it and draw whimpers from his husband. He wants his teeth on it, he wants it in his mouth. That translates very well. Simon’s still salty from the gym, mouthwatering and burning hot; he’s always hot, he’s pressurized combustion to Baz’s flammability. They’re a conflagration in wait.

Baz gives up the pretense of a cup of coffee and takes Simon fully into his arms, pressing his cock into the seam of Simon’s hip. They tip together, a china-break of noise as Baz’s jewelry meets the edge of the counter.

Simon breaks away from the kiss to whine, pressing his face into Baz’s collar to stare down the length of his body, admiring the catch of light, the pretty little show his husband has made himself into just for him. He's dizzy with the knowledge. “Baz.”

“Yes, darling?”

“Baz.” Simon rocks against him, the tent of his pants sliding against Baz’s naked cock, the fabric of his clothes pulling the jewelry and making it shimmer. Baz is shimmering. Baz is precious gem and relic. He’s opal, turning rainbows in pockets of light as they grace on his skin. Simon grunts as their hips meet again, Baz rocking with him.

Baz, long since familiar with Simon’s limited ability to articulate himself, drapes his arms lovingly around his husband’s shoulders, trailing his fingertips between the creased dip of his tense shoulders. Simon’s back muscles are a thing of beauty, even if he doesn’t manifest his wings all the time anymore. The weight they carry, the strength of him. Simon’s been broken down and rebuilt, born again in kintsugi and flame.

“Let me tell you what I want,” Baz whispers into Simon’s ear, lips caressing the delicate shell. “Because I’ve been a good boy.”

Simon nods sharply, left panting and grinding into Baz, eyes still caught on the fairylight dance of his body.

“I want my husband to fuck me.” Simon grunts an appreciative affirmation. Baz isn’t finished speaking yet; he reprimands with a nip to Simon’s earlobe; the gasp Simon releases doesn’t sound punished in the least. “Posses me. Worship me.”

“I do,” Simon swears, pressing a needy kiss to Baz’s throat. “I do. Love you.”

“Prove it.”

“I-” Simon shakes his head. “I have a-”

Baz pulls back with a sneer. “I swear to everything magic, if you tell me you have to go to teach a zumba class, I’m filing for divorce.”

Simon’s tail unwinds from Baz’s wrist and curls around his own thigh to give himself a comforting squeeze. That’s exactly what he was about to say.

“Uhm.” The draconid slits of his eyes are still very much fixed on the swaying chain between Baz’s nipple clamps. “I - uh - I'll have - Hae-Won can teach it.”

“I think so,” Baz says primly. They haven’t fucked in ages (a month) (It was a long month) because Simon’s concocted the most ridiculous schedule Baz has ever seen. The personal fitness trainer thing has been great and all, but Simon has a rack of clients that Simon meets at weird hours and it’s put a serious cramp in Baz’s horny time. And then zumba - Crowley. He can’t even begin to mentally address it. _The music alone._

“Don’t move,” Simon says urgently, trying to fumble out his phone from his jogger pockets with his hands halfway into claws. If Baz wants to keep his erection, he has to look away from the sorry sight. Nothing kills a libido like clumsy fingers.

“I’m moving,” Baz sniffs, sliding out from around him. It has the desired effect: Simon entirely forgets what he’s doing and watches him instead, eerie eyes tracking him with a hunting instinct. Baz didn’t bother wearing anything over his bum because the drape of the waist chains lays across the top of his ass tastefully; he puts a little bounce in his step and twists his wrists so the bracelets tinkle together.

Truth be told, he finds gold a little tacky, but silver’s out of the question, and considering this entire outfit is conjured with magic, he simply doesn’t know any spells for platinum. He’s being practical.

There’s an unmistakable crunch from behind him. He stops walking to the bedroom.

“Did you just crush your phone?”

The bin lid bangs open; an object drops inside. “No,” Simon lies badly.

“Don’t throw it out, numpty!” Fourteen blissful fucking years and the usefulness of **As You Were** continues to elude Simon just as it had in school. Alesteir fucking Crowley.

“Oops.” Simon shrugs, tail flicking back and forth as he watches one of the dangly bits from the chain slip down between Baz’s crack. Baz shimmies it free to bounce against a buttcheek but a second later it slots back into place, tickling itself in his bum hair.

Baz raises an eyebrow and gives another little shake of his rear, sending the rest of the ornaments swishing and tinkling. Simon tips his head one way, then the next, completely entranced.

“Numpty,” Baz repeats before sprinting for the bedroom. There’s a clatter as Simon smacks into the kitchen table and knocks over a chair, hot on his heels. The flat isn’t big enough for a good proper chase, (not like the neverending beach of their honeymoon where Simon could fly free and Baz could take long runs unchecked by witnesses,) but they make do. They’ve had practice.

Baz draws up at the foot of the bed and manages to turn just soon enough to catch Simon as he comes barrelling into him, wings popping out, tearing another shirt apart, and sending a whirlwind of air through the room. Their flat is mostly free of breakable things at this point. (All the breakable things...broke.)

“Crowley,” Baz grunts, falling back into the bed, pinned down by a very eager draconid. His dick bounces between them before Simon presses him down into the mattress, spreading Baz apart, a hand around each of his wrists, his tail wrapped around a leg and opening his thighs for Simon to slot between and grind down. By the time Simon starts kissing him properly, Baz’s fangs have elongated and they’re well-past being careful about that.

“I’m all yours tonight,” Simon manages to promise, pulling his bleeding lip away from Baz’s hungry mouth. Blood’s streaked up his cheek. Baz cups his face adoringly and brings him down to lick clean.

“You better be. I was beginning to contemplate extreme measures.”

Simon tweaks one of Baz’s bedazzled nipples. “This isn’t?”

“This is casual.”

“Whatever you say, love.” Simon ducks his head down to suck on the aforementioned nipple, pinching the ring of the clamp between his teeth and giving a little tug. “These magicked?”

“Uh-huh,” Baz grunts, chest heaving up to meet Simon’s mouth.

Simon licks across Baz’s chest hair, rubbing his tongue against the grain and then smoothing it back down dutifully. “Make them tighter.”

It’s both the best and worst part of games like this. The self-infliction. Simon lets him sit up enough to grab his wand off the nightstand where it’s waiting with a bottle of lube, a condom they probably won’t use, water bottles and towels. Simon doesn’t even bat an eye.

This had been a fun one to work out. A spell fit for torture and pleasure. He taps the tip of his wand to one clamp.

**“The turn of the screw.”**

Simon watches the skin of his nipple darken slightly as the pressure increases. He flicks his eyes to Baz’s face then guides Baz’s wand tip to the other. Baz repeats the spell, toes curling. The cattle blood inside him beats a thick rhythm in the pinched peaks of his nipples, fading out to a throb.

“Let's let those babies cook,” Simon says, assessing the tension with a flick of his finger and a tug on the chain. Baz squeezes his eyes shut and hums.

“Please word that differently,” Baz sighs, settling into the pressure. Simon only has to jostle the chain to give both of his nipples a twinge that makes his chest puff out as if seeking an invisible touch.

Simon, stroking Baz’s belly and hip now, lowers his head with a kiss to Baz’s cheek and a far more restrained lick. “Tell me when they start to ache and I'll suck your pretty titties.”

“Better.” Baz combs his fingers through Simon’s curls, catching sight of the pleased glint in his eye at the praise. He gives Simon a fond pat. “That’ll do.”

“Prick.”

“Lower for that one, love.”

Simon wiggles lower, then lower more, bypassing Baz’s prick until he's slipping backwards off the bed. He yanks Baz to the edge of the mattress by his ankles and kneels between his knees.

“What was it you wanted: fuck, worship, possess?” Simon presses a kiss to the knob of Baz’s ankle, tongue curling around the drape of the anklet. He chews it contemplatively, letting it roll around the little swollen punctures inside his bottom lip.

“In no particular order, yes.”

“Think it's a three-in-one deal, Baz.”

“Well,” he nudges Simon in the head with his toes. “More bang for my buck.”

Simon snorts into the arch of Baz’s foot and makes good on his word, licking up the curve until he can fit his mouth over Baz’s toes, slicking the gold bands of his rings in spit. Baz didn’t miss a spot with his fancy glitter oil. He’s sparkly on the sole of his foot. Simon wants to lick him clean. Baz jerks and huffs out a laugh as Simon pokes his tongue between his pinkie toe.

“O-okay wait,” Baz laughs, twisting around in the sheets. “Wait, I've got the giggles.”

“That's on you.” Simon snatches Baz’s other foot and quickly repeats the process, eliciting more squealing laughter from above. He works quickly, teeth and tongue around Baz’s toes. He teases his way until a rough hand in his hair pulls him off his prize.

“You're a menace,” Baz snarls, catching his breath around his fading laughter. He rubs his spitty foot against Simon’s crotch.

Simon's cherubic smile looks positively demonic with his reptilian eyes. Baz is neither fooled nor intimated. Especially with the anklet slipping off his foot, already broken.

“Open your mouth.” A little shake. “Open.”

Simon opens his mouth to reveal - nothing.

“Did you eat half my anklet?” This wouldn’t be the first time. At least this time it’s magick and won’t pass through his fucking disturbing digestive tract.

“Oops?”

“Crowley, the things you put inside your body - do not make the obvious joke here, Simon, have some comedic standards.”

“Crowley,” Simon mimicks and leans up to swat Baz hard on the thigh, earning a little yelp. “You do need fucked.”

Baz throws himself backwards dramatically, an arm across his face. “I am _suffering_.”

He hisses a second later as Simon snakes his tail up to tug on the chain of Baz’s clamps. It ignites the quiet steady throb his nipples have become and makes his blood pulse all the way down to his cock. His hips give a spasmodic reactive twitch into the air. It's quelled as Simon brings his hands down on him, pinning him still.

“I'm thinking-”

“That's new-”

A bright burst of pain on either side of him marks Simon’s claws digging into his skin. Baz hisses, fangs bared. Simon answers him with teeth of his own. They snap their grins at each other.

“I'm thinking you don't need worshipped at all,” Simon growls, crawling back onto the bed and atop Baz, moving them closer to the headboard. “Don't think you've been a good boy at all.”

Deeply interested in this turn of events, Baz raises an inquiring eyebrow. “Oh? What's your evidence?”

Another tug on the clamps. Simon prowls higher until he's nose to nose with Baz, heat radiating off him in dangerous dark waves. It's enough to make Baz start to sweat. The oil on his body shimmers, going wet and new.

“You should have told me how bad you needed it.”

Baz wants to argue that, but unfortunately, Simon has a point. He could have had Simon’s attention sooner; even after all these years, it's hard to ask for what he wants. He's endlessly greedy. He's starved and gluttonous.

Simon cuts off his mad descension with a nip of a kiss. “I think I should ruin you.”

The words, the easy promise of them, the knowledge of what it will contain - Baz swallows dryly. Simon kisses him again, cruel in its chasteness. All his plotting, all his coyness and pretentious goes up in flames. When it comes to Simon, ruin and worship feel just the same. It’s always been kisses and flame with him. The end of the world in a touch.

Baz flips them over, jubilant, spitting, ripping Simon’s clothes off his body. He stinks like a man, decidedly masculine; he reeks of his Simonness. The butter of him browner, the damp crease of his thighs a baked in smell of pumping blood and gym sweat. He’s the right kind of foul. Baz wants it all over him; he wants deliriously, slovenly. He’s drooling, dripping from his fangs, his panting mouth.

They tumble together like that, Baz shedding Simon of his clothes, Simon tearing off the conjured jewelry save for the piercings which he purrs into, tugging the small wound of them, digging his tongue into punctured flesh that will heal by the end of the night. He wants too; he wants to wait with his mouth over the studs, the hoops, the barbells. He wants to suck the metal out of Baz’s skin and swallow it; he wants to open the small holes until he can fit his fingers in, his tongue - he wants to fuck himself into all of Baz’s openings and make new ones.

The clamps come off with a **Lefty Loosey** and Simon sucks and fondles Baz through the swelling sensation of blood returning to his nipples. His vampirism makes little difference in this regard. The ache, the tightness and heat of them - he doesn’t let Simon up from his chest until he’s long soothed and splotchy with hickies, until he’s pawing his own chest and squeezing himself.

The sparkling treasure of a plug in Baz’s hole is not a surprise. It’s not even remarkable. Simon knew it’d be there; he avoided it out of respect because once he sets his eyes on the glittering jewel of it - Baz rolls over onto his knees and spreads his cheeks, less submission and more demand.

“Is this asking for it?” Baz challenges, hiccuping when Simon’s face presses between his cheeks to lick the lube from his hairy crease, to spit and shine the still cold glass, faceted and enticing, drawing his dragon eye like a moth to the flame. What a way to burn - buried balls deep in a vampire.

“Fuck, yes it is.” Simple as that.

Baz laughs into the pillow, legs set to tremble as Simon licks up his taint and up his crack, sucking on the curve of each cheek of his ass, teeth gone jagged in his mouth. There will be blood in their sheets. They’re used to that too. Sometimes, it is breakfast in bed. Sometimes, it is clawmarks. Both are I Love Yous.

The toy comes out; his body sucks in the space of its going. Baz groans, collapsing a little, his ass closing and opening like a gasping mouth. The exposure prickles up his spine, a static tug in his fingers. The emptiness aches; the emptiness taunts him. His hunger goes deeper than blood. It all goes to his stomach.

“Fuck, Baz,” Simon mumbles lowly, rubbing the back of his hand across the opening, letting his knuckles kiss into the pale pink flesh of Baz’s worked-soft insides. “You-” He presses his fist against Baz’s hole, rubbing the pain of an idea in a soothing circle there where he’s most tender. “Prettier than anything.”

  
He’s been neglecting him.

“S-sap,” Baz tries, rocking back into Simon’s hand, letting the threat hang. Simon holds his hand flat there, letting Baz rub against the heel of his palm, his fingers pressing down behind his balls to stroke him from the outside. Lube slicks his hand, leaking freely. “Do something about this.”

Simon leans his face in and spits noisily, a foamy glopping splash. He follows the loud curse Baz unleashes on him with the head of his cock, fat and already wet.

Baz, who stretched himself manually and magically, bites the pillow in anticipation, feets kicking and spreading across the bedsheets. Simon doesn’t do anything. He slaps his cockhead against the furl of Baz’s hole, stringing spit and lube between them, the cool wet strands breaking, a hollow _pop_ following as he lets the head get just sucked in enough to pull air - it sounds like sucking off a bottle top, it sounds filthy.

“Roll over.”

Baz could argue, he could starfish and deny the workload, but then this is so much more fun. So he pushes up, feeling the weight of his own cock bob between his legs. Simon helpfully reaches around and strokes him, feeling the buck and kick in his hand, breathing heavily. They shuffle together, Simon’s wings balanced counterpoints as he leans back to give Baz room to turn over.

It’s hard work getting Baz redfaced, but the reward is so worth it. His snooty manicured husband, all blood-tacky lips and snarled hair, a wanton stretch of fang in offering.

“Prettier than anything,” Simon repeats himself, dropping down to all fours. He’s gotten bigger with the years, grown into a second body that’s finally capable of holding all that he is. He’s wrapped up in legs and arms immediately until they are two cages closing in on the single animal they’ve become. Unwilling to release each other, Simon drags himself blindly against Baz’s ass until, using his tail to steady his own cock, he slowly sinks in, kissing Baz through it.

There’s no brutality to it, only a slow unrelenting conquering. Simon doesn’t let up until his hips meet the back of Baz’s thighs and lets the weight of his cock inside Baz keep him nailed to the bed while the grip of Baz’s ass suffocates him.

Simon can feel his heartbeat where it’s clutched in the depth of his husband. It’s brilliant. It’s his favorite thing. It is - “Better than Zumba."

“I’m going to decapitate you,” Baz promises, clenching down. “Passionately.”

“Love that for us.” Simon thrusts without pulling out, body knocking Baz higher up the bed. Baz groans long in his throat and then again, short, louder, when Simon gives himself an inch to work with. Then two. Easing out slowly and fucking back in with unshakebale strength. Each thrust beats the shape of his cock deeper into Baz.

It’s delicious. It’s heaven. Baz plants his feet and matches what Simon’s giving him, push and pull. They kiss sloppily across each other’s faces, shoulders, Simon’s tail circling around Baz’s waist to arch him to the perfect angle, the leather tip teasing Baz’s cock. They break for lube,for a change of position, for water. Simon’s heaving, grinning, tugging Baz back onto him.

“Sit on it, lemme watch-”

And then he’s off, a bouncy rhythm, Baz in his lap.

Simon hums.

Baz hums back, tonguing Simon’s ear, listening to his ragged breath.

Simon hums again, hips circling madly. It pulls and guts him.

“Mhmm,” Baz encourages, tightening himself around Simon. “Yeah-”

“Mhm,” Simon hums, picking Baz up and jerking him down, fucking harder, wetter - still fucking humming. His wings are shivering behind him, taking up most of the bed, flapping every once in awhile with pleasure spikes.

“Simon.”

“Mhm?”

“Are you - is that _waka waka._ ”

“I’m in the zone, baby, shh.”

Baz bites him.


End file.
